


Fractured

by Sassy_Beach



Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27346603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassy_Beach/pseuds/Sassy_Beach
Summary: Born to the Lindemann name, Bastest never had a fair shot at a normal life; her family practiced stealth magic which became a finely honed and powerful tool for the generations of assassins the Lindemann family pumped into the Clover Kingdom. The Nobles, Commoners, and Peasants (given they had enough coin) all took part of the Lindemann's services equally; the assassins never turned down a contract, and never missed their mark.Bastest, or Bast as most called the quiet girl, was a prodigy; the pride of the Lindemann name. Her mother, Carla, trained the girl to kill until she bled, then trained her some more. Carla was a drill master, ruthless, not a mother: she desired Bast to continue the line of top-notch assassins, and was well on her way to achieve her sick dreams until Jacob, the girl's father, finally had enough. He helped his daughter escape. He couldn't stomach watching the abuse of his little angel any longer.Surely...a life on the road for his little girl would be better than enduring a lifetime of violence, cruelty, and loneliness. Jacob didn't have a chance anymore, but the best gift he could give his girl is freedom. And so, he set his happiness free.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Fractured

_No! Run it again. Do it right, girl._

A black whip cracks the silent night air, punctuating the snarl produced by the drillmaster’s throat. The redheaded girl lies limp in the snowy grass, motionless. Her face presses into the fresh white powder while the earthy smell of moist dirt and grass fills her lungs. She pants, exhausted. Her mother, Carla, has been drilling her daughter for three hours already. The black whip sings through the air, lashing the girl on the back; Bastet cries out, attempting to muffle the whimpers of pain with tiny, calloused hands. She’s three. 

_Do you intend to bring shame upon the Lindemann’s?! Get up._ Carla screeches at her daughter; she cranks her right arm back and tightens the grip on her favorite weapon. She’s ready to hit that insolent bitch again. _Perhaps, more encouragement?_ the mother purrs, delight sparkling in her eyes as she jolts the whip forward, watching the end lick the back of Bast’s head this time. 

The tiny child writhes in pain, little hands flying to the back of her head to cover the stinging wound. Hot tears leak from her green eyes as she bites harshly into her bottom, cracked lip. She can’t cry, oh no, her mother abhors weakness more than anything. A beat passes before the child musters enough strength to pull herself to her knees. Bast’s vision fades in and out, blurring the world around her; she hangs her head and focuses on the snow packed beneath her knees. The porcelain snow shines ruby, fading to pink as the girl’s blood seeps further into the colorless flakes. Bast’s body tenses for another hit as she hears her mother shift from foot to foot, impatience clear in Carla’s body language. Sucking the freezing air into her lungs, the girl manages to stand; her knees wobble, but her body proves trustworthy and does not give out. 

Bastet lifts her head, glancing over at her mother. 

_What are you waiting for, girl? Run. It. Again._

The child’s eyes drift to the golden, Egyptian daggers on the earth gleaming faintly in the moonlight; a gift from her father, Jacob, on her second birthday. They’re too big for the girl to handle now, but Carla insisted the three-year-old get comfortable with them as they’re the weapon she shows the most affinity with. Swallowing a lump in her throat, Bastet shuffles over to her equipment; she bends down, breath swirling in the frigid night around her face. Curling her pudgy fingers around the thick handles, she winces; her callouses crack and fresh blood coats the filthy grips. Ignoring the pain as best she can, Bast turns towards the training dummy centered in the outside yard – sacks filled with old clothes, feathers, wool. She cannot plunge a dagger deep into anything solid: she’s not strong enough yet. 

The child lowers herself into a deep squat, knees shaking as she lifts her daggers. In each hand, the points of the dagger faces towards the frozen grass below, while the butt of the handle faces towards the sky. This way feels natural to the assassin-in-training. A shaky breath sputters from the girl’s lips as she awaits the command from her mother. She grips her presents tightly, heart stopping. 

_Kill._

~

Lazy eyes peel themselves open, revealing a haunted, deep green color lurking behind drowsy lids. The nightmare fades while a giant yawn overtakes Bastet, engaging her whole body as she stretches, back arching like a cat’s as she squirms beneath the thin blanket covering her muscled and scarred body. The redhead casts her gaze about her compact room. She sits up from the wooden floor she claims as her home. In truth, it was an uninhabited shack located in the Forsaken realm in the Clover Kingdom. This shack is on the outskirts of the peasant town Rayaka; another yawn ripples through her body as she stands, folds her scratchy blanket then tucks it neatly in the corner where her pillow rests. Again, the fifteen-year old stretches her body as a warm breeze blows through the creaky building. A smile cracks her pale lips as she detects sweet scents of numerous flowers, grass, and leaves floating on the gentle wind. Summer is here. 

Bast pulls on some black plants and a tattered, white t-shirt. She has nothing else. No shoes, no change of clothes. The little money she can make in the town of Rayaka she puts towards food for herself, or for the stray cats that linger in the field where her shack is. Running clawed fingers through her long curly hair, she throws open the wooden door and is bathed in the golden glow of the sun. She inhales deeply, allowing her eyes to close and reflect upon that horrid nightmare once more. A shiver runs through her. Without fail, every night something from her childhood torments her dreams. 

_Kill._

Bastet’s jaw sets as that command runs obsessively through her mind. Kill. Kill. Kill! Heart racing, adrenaline spikes the girl’s body. Her slender fingers grasp the doorknob in a vice grip, knuckles turning as white as the snow in her nightmare. Must ki-

“Mrow!” 

Her saving grace, a cat, pulls her from her trance. She peeks her eyes open, unable to help the amused grunt slipping from her lips as a stray black cat rubs affectionately against her left calf. “Hold on, hold on,” the girl laughs despite herself as she reaches for her two golden daggers next to the door. She straps one to her left hip, and the other to her right; she never ventures anywhere without them as they are the only good thing she received from the Lindemann’s…from her father. 

“Breakfast time, huh, Midnight?” Bast murmurs with a smile. She stoops down, scooping the cat up into her slender arms while exiting her home and onto the soft dirt outside her shack. She shuts the door then sets Midnight back on his feet in the dry soil next to her. “I only have a little money left,” Bast warns the black cat as she traipses towards the entrance of Rayaka, “don’t expect a huge fish today.” Midnight trails the girl closely, fixing her with curious yellow eyes. Bastet’s green eyes meet the cat’s own. She raises her eyebrows, not enjoying how his expression morphs into one of accusation. “You’re lucky I feed your furry butt at all,” the redhead deadpans, laughter following soon afterwards as they enter the peasant town. 

Red curls bounce frantically as Bast’s pace quickens towards the market, stomach growling incessantly. She’s famished. “Oh, Bast, dear! Dear!” an old woman from the markets calls to her. A wrinkled arm flies in the air while the hand connected to it waves. A warm smile paints the grandma’s features. Bast returns the smile and gladly jogs to the woman to close the distance; Midnight bounds afterwards. 

“Ami!” Bast pushes her thick hair behind both ears before leaning on the front of the kindly woman’s stall. She straightens instantly in surprise, however, expertly capturing an apple Ami tosses her way. The fifteen-year-old raises her eyebrows skeptically. 

“Honestly, dear, eat,” a warm grin returns to Ami’s features. 

“Thank you.” Bast dips her head gratefully, eyeing the fish at her stall as well. She reaches into her hollow coin pouch, retrieving just enough for one fish. She settles it on the table in front of Ami, a light clink against the worn wood. “And one fish for my friend, please.” The girl cleans the apple off on her dirty shirt, shifting her gaze towards Midnight as she hears a wet plop slap against the cobblestone street. The black cat wastes no time, snatches up the fish and tears off into some alleyway to enjoy his prize. Satisfied, Bast bites into the juicy, red apple. The tartness causes goosebumps to appear on her warm, sandy skin. 

Silence settles between the girl and old woman. Bast turns to face the people grazing the market, leaning against Ami’s stall, and munching on her delectable apple. The woman works quietly behind the redhead but is distracted by strange ink markings on the outside of the girl’s two hands. Ami has known Bast for a while now – the girl simply appeared one day – but Ami knew better than to ask questions. Many strangers pass through Rayaka, and it’s safer to simply serve with kindness than inquire as to who they are. However, this question burns in Ami’s mind constantly, and she finally asks the girl: “What are those markings on your hand, dear? Are they a brand?” Ami’s voice grows quiet as she observes the shift of attitude in her young friend. 

Bast remains quiet, finishing off the rest of her apple – core and all. She deftly flicks the stem into the street then whirls to face Ami. Studying the old woman with her deep green eyes, her head tilts to the right as she figures how to answer this question honestly but without oversharing. If Bast told her too much, Ami would figure she was from the Lindemann family. The girl couldn’t bear to witness the softhearted woman turn icy towards her just because of her family.

“This,” the redhead taps the back of her right hand, “is an ankh. It represents life.” Bast carefully explains in a hushed breath. She trusts Ami, but prying ears prowl the market. “And this,” she holds out the back of her left hand, “is called shen. This one represents completeness, or unbroken bonds.” She drops her hands back on the table eyeing Ami for any signs of recognition as to what ancient culture these symbols hail from. Luckily, the old woman simply seems confused, but nods her head. “I have another, but that one is hidden,” Bast points to the area under her breasts and offers a cheeky smile. “They’re not exactly brands; they’re ink…it’s…well, it’s tradition to get one in…” Bast trails off, shrugging her shoulders to end the conversation. 

“Sorry,” Ami bashfully apologizes. “I’ve always wondered. I have never seen symbols like that before in the Clover Kingdom. They’re certainly unique, de- “  
Bells in the distance cut the old lady off and suddenly, Bastet remembers what day it is. The day she’d been waiting for ever since she escaped that hellish nightmare of a home. “My grimoire…” is all Bastet offers as clarification, her voice barely above a whisper. Ami beams at the young girl. The woman reaches out and places a wrinkled hand on Bast’s plump right cheek. She gives it an affectionate pinch. 

“Good luck, dear.” 

Bastet rushes around to the other side of the stall; she gently grabs Ami behind the neck, pulls her close, then gives the old woman’s forehead a fast but chaste kiss. She never thought Ami would be able to reduce her to a pile of mush, but somehow weaseled her way into the assassin’s heart. It was a bizarre feeling: someone believing in her. “See you soon, Ami,” Bastet whispers fiercely against Ami’s forehead speckled with dark aging spots. The redhead blinks back tears threatening to form before swiftly turning from her aging friend and rushing off to the tower where she will receive her grimoire. 

After that, the Magic Knights exam. 

Bastet is determined to be a Magic Knight, no matter what. She’ll be the best product to ever emerge from the Lindemann family; she’ll change the fate of her house. She’s going to defy Carla every step of the way and instead of killing people, she’ll save people. 

“But first, my grimoire.”

Bast’s green eyes crackle with excitement as she rushes towards the tower, towards her fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! 
> 
> So, this is my first work! I love to write, and finally came up with an idea and story that I'm going to enjoy writing. I'm hoping that this will also improve my writing overall. I'm super excited to share this story as I love Black Clover and I hope you guys do, too! Just so you're not slapped in the face with anything, I'm planning on following the main story of the manga, so all that happens in there will also happen in my story, but I'll be telling it from Bast's perspective and of course, the dialogue and other things will change. However, the main events and relationships I will attempt to capture and keep the same to the best of my ability. I love comments and critiques! Anything I can do to improve my writing, let me know! I'll stop rambling now, haha.
> 
> Thanks for taking a chance on me and my story. Enjoy! 
> 
> xo  
> Iv


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